


iv. who are you, really?

by alondra (alaundry)



Series: ichor universe [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Angel/Human Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaundry/pseuds/alondra
Summary: oliver meets an angel.jongyul meets a pariah.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: ichor universe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144103





	iv. who are you, really?

“Jongyul,” he repeated, lifting the hot cocoa and gazing into it expectedly, as if he was a mortician inspecting a dead body under the light of his study. He carried himself like that with everything, it seemed. “That is… all I can say. All I can think of. The only thing in my mind is… that.”

_ Okay, that’s a start,  _ Oliver thought in a sort of optimistic tone. He squeezed his hands together, the feeling of Jongyul’s lingering against his skin. “Alright. Is it okay if I call you that? It sounds like a name. Do you… have amnesia? What else can you remember?”

“I am out of… place. This is not where I belong. None of this is familiar to me; I feel like I am in danger.”

“You aren’t,” Oliver insisted, turning and heading into his small kitchenette. He pressed his palms against the wooden surface of a counter, shutting his eyes and trying to collect his thoughts and calm his anxiety. “I took you in from the cold. Is there somebody after you?”

“I cannot remember. This is all I can, like I said: Jongyul. A voice called it out to me.”

Oliver’s head tilted at that, looking like some sort of confused puppy trying to understand a command. His eyes opened once more, lingering on his cell phone next to the microwave. Sure, the thought might have popped into his head to call the police, or an ambulance, even. But he couldn’t; he had learned not to trust the government from his childhood. They weren’t out to do their job: protecting their citizens. Not all of them, equally, at least. He was at risk, he was a target. 

_ Fear is the heart of love. _ That was what the nuns at his church had told him, as they came down onto his knuckles with a ruler. 

“I’m the only one who has talked to you, that I know of, at least,” said Oliver, managing to snap himself out of his intoxicating thoughts. He inhaled breathlessly and looked to the man standing in his living room. “Was it in your head? You should… probably sit down, I’ll get you a blanket.”

Jongyul gestured to the large, fleece blanket draped over his shoulders that had come from the couch. It had a magnificent eagle design etched onto it, and Oliver swallowed thickly. He hadn’t seen him pull it on, and it was one of the symbols he kept near to his heart of his culture and his heritage. It felt strange to see such a glorious man with beautiful features wearing it. It didn’t seem like such a symbol of pride anymore.

“I could not tell the difference if I tried,” Jongyul spoke up after some time, reluctantly sitting his body back down on the sofa. He didn’t seem to appreciate being vulnerable in front of a stranger, and that was where he and Oliver could relate to each other.

Oliver made himself a cup of hot cocoa as well, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he poured the cheap mix into the hot water and moved towards Jongyul. It wasn’t so much hot chocolate so much as it was just tepid chocolate milk. The water pressure and heating system was fucked up in that apartment building sometimes, especially in his own.

He settled down on the sofa a few far ways from where Jongyul was sitting, taking a drink of the beverage before setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. “I’ll let you… stay with me for a while. Just until you get back on your feet and your memory might be able to come back. Like I said, I think you should get medical attention, but I can’t give it to you. Ms. Irma would be able to; I’ll take you over to her if you want.”

Oliver wanted to leave it all up to Jongyul. He hated when others made decisions for him, kept him from feeling as independent as he possibly could. His body was his own, and he wanted to extend that basic human right to the beautiful stranger who had appeared on his doorstep.

“Jongyul,” he said, purple fingers trailing their way over his knees covered in denim fabric. He was dressed like any sort of man that would walk the streets. His face seemed like it was out of a magazine, and the way he spoke put him up in the British monarch royal family. 

_ What an interesting combination…  _

_ That’s the third time he’s repeated his own name. He might need mental attention; he for sure has a concussion.  _

_ Did he even fall? He must have fallen. People don’t just appear on the floor. _

“Alright. Jongyul. I’ll let you sleep in my bed; I’ll take the couch. I just need more information from you. Is that all you remember?”

Jongyul stared at Oliver for a few seconds, feeling the veins on his brain pounding against his skull. A skull.  _ This does not feel normal. I should not be here. _

_ But where should I be? Where am I? _

“That is all I remember. All that has traced through my head is the voice calling out that name…  _ my  _ name. I do not belong here.”

Oliver was slowly disregarding most of his confusion, writing some of what Jongyul said off as just mad rambles. Just because he didn’t understand, though, didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try to sympathize with him. 

“I understand. Stay here, for a bit. I’ll go get Ms. Irma, and she’ll see about trying to get you to the hospital. You’ll be alright, Jongyul, just… stay here,” Oliver told him, in a (hopefully) comforting tone. 

Jongyul glanced up at the man, not showing any signs of understanding. His face was a stoic, blank canvas, porcelain set in place. 

“... Are you going to stay?”

“Yes, I am going to stay.”

“Okay.”

With flushed cheeks and sheepish rubs of his hand against the back of his neck, Oliver left the apartment after locking the door so nobody could get in. 

_ Jesus. You’re locking him in your house? The predatory gay stereotype really holds up. _

_ I’m not gay. _

His cheek became even more flushed after his own hand struck it, physically slapping his face to escape the thoughts holding him hostage. Oliver arrived at his neighbor’s apartment door, 4C, after a few moments of trying to soothe himself.

Ms. Irma was a recently widowed, middle aged woman who was fairly tender with him and everyone else in the apartment building she came across. Oliver enjoyed her company. He knocked on the door, fist loose.

One minute passed, and then two. By the time that three minutes had, Oliver was about to turn on his heel when he heard the various locks clicking undone against the wooden door. He peered through the peephole, and took a step back when Ms. Irma’s face full of wrinkles and a smile on her face peeked through the thin slit the door’s opening had made.

“Hello, Ms. Irma. I have a bit of a problem… Can you come with me to my apartment?”

“Of course, son. Just give me a few minutes, I need to take care of something first.”

Without waiting for Oliver to answer, the door slammed shut and caused him to jerk, leaning back. This wasn’t usual.

_ How can doors that don’t even open much slam? _

Nonetheless, Oliver stood back against the wall facing the door, pressing the back of his head against the surface. His chin tilted upwards and his brown eyes caught on the intricate patterns of the ceiling. This felt to him more like a hotel than an apartment, a desperate attempt to fluff everything up and try to get people to stay, only temporarily. 

_ This is temporary. You feel weak, but you are strong. _

Ms. Irma emerged from her apartment, locking her door up securely and standing in front of Oliver. She was wearing a shower cap for some reason, polka-dotted pajamas hanging off of her frail and hunched body. She gestured for the younger man to lead, so he did.

Oliver arrived at his home, unlocking the door and letting her in. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in, relieved that he saw Jongyul was in the exact same position he had left him in. 

“Hey. Jongyul, this is Ms. Irma; Ms. Irma, this is Jongyul. He appeared on my doorstep in the snow, and he says-- no. He  _ can _ only remember his name, but that’s about it. You know that I can’t really… take him anywhere, so I was hoping that you could check on him and give me some advice.”

“It isn’t snowing, honey, but I’ll take a look at him.”

_ … What? _

“What?” Oliver stammered out, feeling his body hurry towards the window and stare out into the city below them. Ms. Irma was right; it wasn’t snowing, at least not anymore. The industrialized town was seemingly dry and normal as it had been last week, and the week before that.

_ Jongyul isn’t the only one who’s going crazy _ .  _ You’re imagining weather phenomenons that aren’t even there.  _

While the woman moved closer to Jongyul and began moving her hands around his face to study him, Oliver stayed next to the window. The sun was shining on them, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed the rays gently trickling through the glass. He would have thought that his eyes were fooling him right now, but Ms. Irma had seen the same thing. 

Oliver just wondered why Jongyul didn’t say anything.

“You seem fine, honey, but you keep looking away from my fingers. Right here, honey. Focus on my hands.”

“What is that for, Irma?” Oliver asked, stepping closer again and watching as the woman snapped her fingers in front of Jongyul’s vision. He didn’t seem to be following her with his gaze, instead his irises floated around and looked at anything but. 

“It’s Ms. Irma, dear. My husband may be dead but he doesn’t define my title. I’m checking to make sure his coordination is up-to-par… and it doesn’t seem to be.”

“Sorry… What do you think we should do?”

“I think it’s fairly obvious that we have to take him to the hospital,” Ms. Irma deduced, standing up from her position of kneeling in front of Jongyul. Oliver blinked a few times in confusion at the language he used and was quick to shake his head. 

“I don’t think I can go with you, Ms. Irma. Not if they’ll ask me questions. You know that.”

“I’m forgetting things, dear,” she told him with rather harsh wagging of her index finger in his direction. Oliver blinked once more, this time in a bit of surprise, as her hand almost touched his face. “He needs medical attention. And they won’t let me drive anymore.”

Oliver inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together and pressing his fingers into the palms of his hands. Small little marks appeared on the dark skin, and he was reminded of Jongyul doing the same just an hour ago. 

He glanced towards the man in question. Jongyul was currently pressing his hands against the temples of his head, massaging the sensitive skin and threading his fingers through his locks of pink hair. At that second, flecks of blonde seemed to appear from his fingertips and spread into his hair. 

Oliver swallowed thickly and had the urge to physically slap himself, knowing he was probably seeing things again. 

_ Just like the snow, just like the man. _

_ That wasn’t a hallucination.  _

“I’ll drive you two,” he finally gave in, pushing a hand through his own dark curls. “That’s it. I won’t go in. I’ll park and wait for you to come back out. I’m sorry, but I can’t step foot in there.”

Ms. Irma nodded, tenderness soaking through her gaze as she looked at him. She had begun to remember his phobia of anything government-related now, and especially San Jose General Hospital. She gestured for Jongyul to stand, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her or anyone except for Oliver. His pale, chocolate brown eyes practically bore into the other male, and it made probably everybody in the room uncomfortable.

“Jongyul,” the old woman said once more, snapping her fingers in front of his nose yet again. “Get up, now. We’re going to the hospital.”

Ms. Irma had a sort of authoritative demeanor to her, and Oliver knew to always listen to her when she told him to do something. Jongyul seemed to be a fast learner, and caught onto this quickly. He stood, legs slightly trembling against each other. 

Oliver reacted quickly, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stand. He didn’t like to see others in need of help and have nobody grant them that. He didn’t want anybody to feel how he had for years before: like cellophane.

Jongyul’s head whipped towards Oliver’s face and they stared at each other for a few, gripping moments. Ms. Irma cleared her throat and led the way out of the apartment and down the stairs (after Oliver locked his apartment door four times over, that is). 

The drive to the hospital was mostly silent, save for Ms. Irma’s occasional comments on the boring, steamy weather paired with awkward chuckles from Oliver and a simple, albeit confused nod from Jongyul. They arrived within a few minutes, and Oliver parked the car in the lot. He turned it off and spun to look at Jongyul.

“They’re going to give you a check-up. You probably hit your head or something when you fell on the pavement this morning. Just try to relax and do everything they tell you. Ms. Irma is there to help,” Oliver explained, hoping the other man understood. He glanced towards his neighbor sitting next to him, and she offered him a subtle, encouraging smile. 

“Come on, honey,” Ms. Irma called, climbing out of the car and moving to Jongyul’s door. She opened it up for him, and reached up to help however she could to get him out and onto the lot’s ground.

_ For a sixty year-old woman, she’s strong. Maybe just determined, but she’s strong. _

Oliver sat in the driver’s seat, pressing his hands against the rickety steering wheel of his old Jeep. After a few moments, he breathed out a groan and let his forehead fall forward, hitting against the surface. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Jongyul was heavy, and so were Oliver’s growing worries and burdens. The only thing on his mind as he pressed against his steering wheel were questions, and he didn’t like being in the dark very much.

He sat for the entirety of the doctor’s visit, which ended up being a simple twenty minutes. When Oliver noticed the familiar walk of Ms. Irma walking confidently through the parking lot with a confused-looking Jongyul reluctantly by her side in his rearview mirror, his thick brows furrowed in on themselves. 

_ That was fast. Maybe he didn’t really have a concussion. I hope he’s okay. _

_ I hope we can get him to his family. They’re probably missing him. _

_ Oh god. He probably has a girlfriend. She’s probably heartbroken. I know I would be if I lost him, even temporarily. _

Ms. Irma arrived to the car once more, reaching up to tap on Oliver’s window. His lashes fluttered like they usually did when he was confused. He moved to roll it down, looking at the woman standing to his side. “What’s wrong?” he asked curiously, glancing towards Jongyul as he climbed into the backseat silently.

“Nothing,” she answered, and the veins on her neck seemed to pop out even more. Her jaw’s muscles clenched, and she looked… angry? 

“Well, then why don’t you get in? What’s the problem?”

“Because they said nothing’s wrong, with  _ him _ ,” Ms. Irma repeated, moving up to lightly pinch at Oliver’s shoulder before starting to walk around the front of the car to her seat. “ _ That’s  _ the problem.”


End file.
